


All Or Nothing

by Suzie_Shooter



Series: Musketeers Series 3 Episode-Specific Fics [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Adultery, Childbirth, Choices, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Relationship(s), Separation, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Athos is taking a leave of absence to fulfill a mission of great importance."</p><p>A month has passed since the end of series 3 - Athos and Sylvie have been working on peace talks as envoys of the Queen, and with Porthos back fighting on the front line the clock is ticking - but for Athos the political situation is less complicated than reconciling his conflicted feelings for both Sylvie and Porthos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete in itself, but continues the development of Athos and Porthos' relationship (and Athos/Sylvie's) from the preceding stories in the [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/481543), and from the [preceding one](http://archiveofourown.org/series/206879).

"Well that wasn't so bad," Sylvie murmured, glancing across with a mischievous smile at where Athos was riding next to her, sunk into a weary silence. "Although there was one point when I thought you were about to feed him his own wig."

Athos glanced up and managed a smile. "It was tempting. Negotiations are always harder when you've got an overwhelming desire to throttle the other party."

"You did very well, I thought. The consummate politician."

"Well there's no need to be rude." Athos sat up straighter in the saddle, stretching his back and sighing. "There's an inn up ahead. Shall we stop for the night? You must be tired."

Sylvie snorted. "We _could_ have stayed with Lorraine if you hadn't told him we had to get back to Paris."

"Well, we do," Athos muttered. "The Queen needs to know we were successful in securing the reinforcements. Besides, another hour in the company of that little twerp and I'd have punched him, treaty or no treaty."

"A little twerp who's now in command of a very respectably sized army, thanks to Grimauld gutting his father," Sylvie smiled. "Come on then, let's stop here. I know having to be nice to people for any length of time makes you tired."

"I resent that remark."

"And grumpy."

"Have you quite finished?"

Sylvie smirked at him. "Barely even started."

\--

The inn was warm and cosy and they were pleasantly surprised to get a reasonably good meal. The news currently circulating the taproom was less welcome. Reports of further heavy losses had been received from the front, and as they went up to bed Athos was clearly preoccupied.

"I'm sure Porthos will be fine," Sylvie told him, guessing the direction of his thoughts. "Generals are always the best protected."

Athos glared at her, stung. "If you think for a minute Porthos is the kind of man to lead from anywhere but the front - " 

Sylvie held up her hands peaceably. "I wasn't insulting him. You can't imagine I would."

Athos subsided with a groan, and Sylvie sat next to him on the bed, rubbing his back.

"I'm sorry," Athos sighed. "It's just part of me still feels I should be out there, fighting at his side."

"You've just secured him an entire army's worth of reinforcements to do exactly that. What you're doing as the Queen's secret envoy is just as valuable."

Athos gave her a tired smile. "Thank you," he said quietly. They leaned towards each other, but their lips had barely touched before there came a sharp knocking at the door.

Athos heaved himself to his feet with an irritable growl. "Who the hell's that, I said we were not to be disturbed." He flung open the door crossly then froze in surprise, his mouth hanging open idiotically.

Curious, Sylvie came over to look over his shoulder.

"Aramis! What are you doing here?"

Aramis lifted his hat and grinned at her. "I was on my way to intercept you in Lorraine, but I got word you'd left already. As it happened, by chance I stopped here myself, and heard you were already here. A happy coincidence that saved me many miles of riding, and delivers the unusual bonus of Athos being lost for words."

Athos closed his mouth and gave him a sardonic look as Aramis smirked and came into the room, closing the door behind him.

"But why were you looking for us?" Sylvie persisted. "Is everything alright?"

"As well as it ever is," Aramis reassured her. "I assume you were successful with the new Duke?" he added, looking to Athos.

"Yes, as long as her Majesty is willing to honour the treaty Treville drew up, then with a few more goodwill gestures thrown in, Lorraine's army is at our disposal."

Aramis nodded. "Good. Then I bring fresh word from the Queen. New instructions. Extremely confidential, which is why she sent me in person."

Athos groaned. "Why does the fact it couldn't wait for us to get back worry me?"

"Should I leave you alone?" Sylvie offered, not wanting to put Athos in an awkward position. "If it's that secret?"

"Technically yes, but this will affect both of you, so you'd better stay," Aramis told her, then gave Athos a meaningful look. "Some of us know when it's best to share information."

Athos rolled his eyes but didn't bite. "Get on with it," he muttered. "I suppose she wants us to go somewhere else in search of more support."

"In a manner of speaking," Aramis said, then took a deep breath. "She wants you to go to Madrid."

"Madrid?" Athos stared at him in shock. "Her Majesty wants me to go all the way to Spain?"

"Yes." Aramis had the decency to look faintly apologetic. "Before Grimauld intercepted her correspondence, Phillip was sounding amenable to the idea of peace talks. She - and I agree with her - thinks it's worth resuming that process. This time sending someone she trusts, to negotiate in person, rather than relying on letters."

"And this would be me and not you why exactly?" Athos asked archly. "Given that of the two of us, you're the one who speaks Spanish?"

"Phillip and his court all speak perfectly good French," Aramis pointed out. "It won't be a problem."

"And when I'm arrested as a spy trying to get to him?"

Aramis drew a sheaf of papers from his bag. "These should allow you safe conduct, to his presence at least, as her Majesty's official envoy. Of course what he decides to do with you after that isn't without risk."

"Remind us again why you're not going?" Sylvie demanded.

Aramis looked apologetic. "As the Queen's Minister I am needed in Paris."

"I'm sure you are," Athos muttered darkly. "Promise me you're keeping things strictly professional?"

"I am ever at my Queen's service," Aramis said serenely.

"That's what worries me."

Sylvie looked between them with a faint frown. "Am I missing something here?" 

"No!" they both chorused hastily, and she looked sceptical.

"Right. So, Madrid then?"

Aramis looked at Athos. "It will not be a mission without considerable risk. I should escort Sylvie back to Paris. She'll be safer at the garrison."

Sylvie gave him an indignant look and Aramis cleared his throat. "Paris will be safer, with Sylvie in the garrison," he amended gallantly. 

"No," Sylvie objected flatly. "I'm staying with Athos." 

They both looked at him expectantly. Athos hesitated. "I would prefer to keep her with me," he admitted to Aramis.

"In her condition?"

"Oi!" Sylvie glared. "I'm right here you know. Don't I get a say?"

Athos sighed. "Of course. I'm sorry." He took her hand in his. "You would truly prefer to come with me? Aramis is right, it will not be without danger."

"Then you'll need someone to watch your back, won't you?" Sylvie retorted. "Besides, I speak a little Spanish, if that helps?"

Athos kissed her. "Then it's settled."

\--

The ride across France took almost two weeks, Athos torn between the urgency of a mission that could potentially bring the war to an end, and his personal unwillingness to risk Sylvie's health. As they went, more and more reports reached them along the way of French losses, and by the time they were nearing the border with Spain Athos was barely speaking, spending hours lost in thought and knowing they still had half as far to go again, to reach Madrid.

"I've been thinking." 

They were in a cramped attic room in another nondescript inn, this one considerably dirtier and more poorly appointed. It had been a noticeable trend, the closer they got to Spain. Many people had already left the area, and taken their stores with them. The rest had been requisitioned by the army, fighting a war with the same enemy on two borders, and poorly provisioned.

Athos looked up, belatedly realising that Sylvie was waiting for his full attention before continuing. "You have?"

She nodded, hands twisting nervously in a scarf but face set and determined.

"You should go on alone. I'll return to Paris." 

Athos stared at her. "No."

Sylvie blinked. "Yes. Athos, you can travel a hell of a lot quicker if you don't need to worry about me. I'm slowing you down, and one thing I've come to realise is that speed is of the essence now more than ever."

"Oh, you think I wouldn't be more worried about you returning to Paris alone?" Athos demanded. "The countryside is full of desperate men Sylvie - and frankly that's just the army."

"I can take care of myself," she said obstinately. "You know it makes sense." 

"It makes no sense," Athos declared. "You stay with me and that's an end of the matter." 

Sylvie sat down next to him. "You're not normally so pigheaded," she said softly. "Not with me, anyway. You would be able to go faster alone, you know you would. And while I hate the idea of it, you could take more risks too, than I know you would be willing to do with me along. Travel by night, even."

Athos hung his head, then looked up at her through his hair. "Maybe I just want you with me," he ventured.

"Well I'm not sure what for," Sylvie told him. "We've barely lain together since we left Paris, so it can hardly be for romantic reasons." She lay a protective hand across her belly. "I'm hardly showing yet, my body can't disgust you already, surely?"

Athos looked stricken. "What? No! You can't think - you can't ever imagine that - Sylvie, you're beautiful, every inch of you." He seized both her hands and stared into her eyes with a genuine alarm that went some way towards reassuring her.

"Well that's as maybe. Doesn't change the facts though."

Athos sighed. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"I know." Sylvie put an arm round Athos and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Which is why it makes sense for me to go back. Give you one less thing to worry about, let you concentrate on your mission. Besides, I'll be safer in Paris."

"That's debatable," Athos muttered, and Sylvie frowned. 

"Why don't you want me in Paris?" she asked quietly. 

"It's for your own protection," Athos told her cryptically, and Sylvie looked bewildered.

"Who from? Grimauld's dead, the city's under no immediate threat." She bit her lip. "Is it because of your wife?"

Athos froze, then slowly looked round at her with wide and startled eyes.

"I didn't know you knew," he breathed.

Sylvie dropped her gaze. "The rumours are true, then?"

"What rumours?" 

"That you have a wife, who came looking for you at the garrison?"

Athos nodded heavily. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked, and Sylvie gave him an unhappy look.

"I was waiting for you to tell me yourself. When you didn't say anything I thought perhaps it was just someone trying to make trouble for us with an ugly rumour, but then - " she broke off with a sigh.

"Then what?"

Sylvie reached over and took his hand. "I'm carrying your child Athos. I don't doubt that you love me, and I'm not saying that it's necessarily something that worries me, but not once have you mentioned marriage. I mean even Porthos had time to fit in a wedding before he went off to the front."

Athos let out a heavy breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I should have told you."

"Yes. You should." Sylvie wriggled closer and Athos leaned gratefully into her arms, looking ashamed of himself. "You _could_ have told me," Sylvie murmured. "Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

"I didn't know what you might think," Athos confessed. "My wife - is dangerous. Especially when crossed. I did see her, and I asked her to leave, but she's never yet done as I asked, and I suspect she's still around somewhere. And - she knows who you are."

"You think I might be in danger from her?" Sylvie asked, shocked. "That's why you brought me with you?"

Athos nodded slowly. "It was a possibility, in my mind," he admitted. I may be doing her an injustice, but I wasn't willing to take the risk."

"You can't protect me all the time, Athos," Sylvie murmured. "Sometimes you're going to have to accept that I can look after myself. You should let me go back to Paris. I'll be safe enough at the garrison, as much as I hate to say it Aramis was right about that at least. If the tide of the war was more in our favour it would be less of a problem, but if the reports are true, the papers you're carrying might be the only thing capable of stopping hundreds more from dying."

Athos nodded reluctantly, then shook his head, dismissing the question. "We'll discuss it in the morning. For now - " he twisted round on the bed and lay Sylvie down in the blankets with an unexpected pounce, making her shriek with laughter.

"What do you think you're doing?" 

He smiled down at her. "Well I can't have you complaining I'm not keeping you satisfied, can I?"

\--

Athos woke slowly, consciousness seeping back in with a certain reluctance at the knowledge he would soon have to leave the cosy nest of blankets and resume the spine-numbing ride towards Madrid. 

The level of light filtering through the ill-fitting shutters suggested he'd slept late, although given that it had been gone midnight when he and Sylvie had finally turned down the lamp this wasn't really surprising. He smiled slowly at the recollection, and reached out for her.

His arms met empty space, and Athos opened his eyes. He was alone in the bed, and sitting up, he discovered he was also alone in the room.

"Sylvie?" A horrible suspicion was dawning, although he clung to the fact she might only have stepped out for a moment. But her boots and cloak were gone, and in their place lay a scrap of paper with a hastily scrawled message.

_Forgive me, but we both know you'd never make the decision yourself. I will return to Paris, and you must continue to Madrid. Don't come after me Athos. I love you. Sylvie._

He groaned, and struggled into his clothes, swearing vociferously. Stumbling down through the inn he established from the pot boy that the lady he'd been travelling with had left almost two hours earlier, and left the boy with a considerable addition to his cache of swearwords.

In the stable Athos shoved the groom out of the way, saddling his own horse with practised speed until the unfamiliar crackle of paper drew him up short.

He slid the folded sheet out from the pile of tack and read the note with a sigh.

_I said don't follow me. I'll see you in Paris. Love, Sylvie. PS you'd better be back inside five months or else._

Athos slumped back against the wall, surrendering to fate with a groan. The worst thing was, she was right. The fate of thousands hung in the balance against the peace he now had the power to broker. And while the fate of anonymous hordes might be weighed unfavourably against his concern for Sylvie, there was still the fact that Porthos was out there on the front line.

Caught once more between the safety of two people he loved, Athos did the only thing he could do. He walked back into the inn and ordered breakfast. It was still a long way to Madrid.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

There was snow on the ground as Athos made his way towards Paris. The going was treacherous, but he rode as hard and fast as he dared, desperate not only to deliver the documents he carried, but to reach the garrison and establish that Sylvie was in good health.

Upon reaching Madrid, any hope Athos had had of being used by Phillip as a go-between with his sister was quickly dispelled, as while Phillip readily agreed to resuming the negotiations for peace, he was quick to realise the advantage of having in his possession one of Anne's most valued men. Consequently Athos had spent months as the 'honoured guest' of the Spanish court. While treated with courtesy, he had no illusions that he was anything more than a hostage.

Finally, following protracted negotiations, set backs and a certain amount of predictable treachery on both sides, an accord had been brokered, and Athos dispatched to deliver a copy of the all-important treaty signed by Phillip himself. 

In all his time away, Athos had never once allowed himself to entertain the thought that Sylvie might not have reached Paris safely, but as the weeks crawled past and it got closer and closer to the time her baby was due he'd found himself full of fresh fears. Childbirth claimed so many lives that in some quarters it was not-so-jokingly said to be more dangerous than joining the army. 

Gaining the city, Athos knew full well he should go straight to the palace and promptly turned towards the garrison instead. Once entangled with the royal court he would no doubt be detained for hours, possibly even sent on elsewhere if the Queen proved not to be in residence - for once the fate of nations would just have to wait.

Clattering in under the archway, Athos was surprised to see how far the building work had come in his absence, and was sharply reminded exactly how long he'd been away.

"Athos?" D'Artagnan stepped out of the stable and stared up at him, astonishment turning to pleasure as he took in the fact is really was him. "Athos!" 

Athos dismounted and was immediately pulled into a hug by d'Artagnan. He returned it tolerantly, but his eyes were searching the courtyard as he waited for a chance to get a word in. A door opened on the far side and he turned hopefully, but it only revealed Constance.

She stared at him in surprise for a second, then turned back the way she'd come. "Sylvie! Sylvie, come here quickly!"

Heart in his mouth, Athos strode towards the door and Constance stepped aside to make room. A few steps behind her, belly hugely swollen and looking tired but blessedly unharmed, was Sylvie. 

"What is it?" She looked up and saw Athos, and her hand went to her mouth. "Athos?"

In another second he had reached her, and took her into his arms. They clung to each other, both beyond words, Sylvie shaking with emotion.

"Oh God. It's really you," Sylvie breathed. "You're safe."

Athos kissed her, heedless of the fact everyone in the courtyard had stopped what they were doing to watch. "And you. Are you well? Everything's - ?" Athos waved a hand helplessly.

"Fine." Sylvie smiled at him. "Everything's fine."

"Thank God." Athos took her hands, feeling lightheaded with relief. "Sylvie. Will you marry me?" he asked quietly, as soon as he could control the tremor in his voice.

Sylvie's eyebrows went up. "Won't that make you a bigamist?" she murmured under her breath, looking amused.

"I don't care. We'll find a way. Will you?" Athos asked urgently. It had been on his mind the whole time he'd been gone, and he was suddenly frightened she'd say no.

"Of course I will." Sylvie broke into a laugh, and flung her arms around his neck. "Come inside and rest. You look shattered."

Athos shook his head, reluctantly disentangling himself. "I can't. Not yet. I have important papers I need to take to the palace."

"You mean you came here first?" Sylvie asked incredulously.

"Of course I came here first." Athos kissed her again, then looked round for d’Artagnan. "Do you have a fresh horse I could borrow?" He turned back to Sylvie, taking her hands back into his, loathe to let go. "I'll be as quick as I can, I promise."

"I've waited these last months, I suppose I can wait another couple of hours," Sylvie conceded with a smile. "Go. Be important."

Athos made a face, and pulled himself away.

\--

"Athos!" 

Having delivered his vital burden to the Queen, she had immediately withdrawn to summon the Council, and Athos, as he'd suspected, had been instructed to wait upon the outcome. He'd been kicking his heels in an antechamber for twenty minutes when the door burst open to admit Aramis. He got to his feet, and was warmly embraced.

"It's good to see you my friend." Aramis smiled at him, gesturing for Athos to resume his seat, and taking the chair next to him. "I hear you were successful."

"I'm not sure how much I had to do with it in the end, but yes, the treaty is signed," Athos agreed.

"You do yourself an injustice. By all accounts Phillip was very taken with you."

Athos snorted. "He probably signed the thing just to be rid of me." He tugged at his beard in unconscious anxiety. "What word from the front?"

Aramis beamed. "Porthos is well. Flourishing, by all accounts," he said, and Athos breathed a sigh of relief. 

"To be fair, these last months mostly everything's been in a state of limbo," Aramis conceded. "A few skirmishes here and there, but as soon as the word got out that peace might be on the table, both sides have been reluctant to engage on a large scale."

"This peace can't some soon enough, as far as I'm concerned," Athos said. As he spoke the double doors were flung open to admit the Queen, and he and Aramis hastily scrambled to their feet and bowed.

Anne smiled at him. "You are right, Athos. And I think it only fitting that you should be the one to carry the news to the front line yourself."

Aramis frowned. "Majesty, he's dead on his feet. Can't we send someone else?"

Irritated at being so openly contradicted, the Queen gave him a reproving look. "I imagined Athos might like to deliver news of the ceasefire to Porthos in person."

The idea was appealing, and Athos was torn. "If I might be allowed a night's rest, I will willingly go tomorrow," he said, and Anne nodded graciously.

"Of course. We will have the proclamations for our forces drawn up tonight, you may collect them in the morning." She smiled. "You have performed a great service to France in bringing this to a conclusion. Is there anything I can offer you, by way of reward?"

Athos frowned. "Well - since you ask - there is one thing..."

\--

It was dark by the time Athos finally returned to the garrison, and as he let himself into his quarters he was alarmed to find Sylvie half-bent over the foot of the bed, one hand braced for support on the bed frame, the other pressed to her stomach.

"Sylvie! Are you - is everything - " he hurried over, slipping an arm round her and taking her weight as she leaned gratefully against him.

"I'm fine," Sylvie promised. "It's just a twinge, that's all. He's a right kicker, this one."

"Or she," Athos smiled, helping her into a chair. "Are you sure I shouldn't fetch someone?"

Sylvie shook her head. "By my reckoning I should have almost another couple of weeks yet. No panic."

"I'll damn well panic if I want to," Athos said, taking her hand. "That's my right as a prospective father."

She laughed, drawing him forward and kissing him softly. "Just tell me you're here to stay now?" Athos hesitated, and Sylvie groaned. "Athos, no, you promised!"

"Her Majesty has asked me to convey the ceasefire to the troops at the front line," Athos admitted. "I'm supposed to leave again tomorrow morning." He hung his head tiredly, reaching over to stroke a gentle hand over Sylvie's belly. "Should I send back word, tell them to dispatch someone else?"

"If it was that easy, why didn't you tell them at the time?" 

Athos looked guiltier than ever and she sighed. "You want to go, don't you?"

"I have this fear in me that something might happen to Porthos if there is any delay," Athos admitted. "Half of me thinks I should be riding through the night even now. What if - "

Sylvie laid a calming finger on his lips. "You're not normally so superstitious," she said. "He'll be fine for another day or so. How long will it take you?"

Athos considered. "Two days at most to get there, depending exactly on where he is. I'd be back within a week. But if you're so close to your time, I should stay."

"And do what, exactly?" Sylvie asked with a smile. 

Athos opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "I want to be there for you," he said finally.

"Most men would run a mile," Sylvie murmured. "Or are you just determined not to be out-done by Porthos?"

Athos laughed at that, and she hugged him. "Go to him. Stop the fighting. You might as well see it through to the end, you've earned that much."

"You are the very best of women," Athos declared, then looked speculative. "So just - cross your legs till I get back, okay?" He fell back against the bed in self-defence as she slapped at him, laughing.

\--

The sights and sounds of the war encampment sent a chill of memory through Athos as he was escorted towards the General's tent. A runner had been dispatched ahead to locate him, and as Athos arrived he caught sight of Porthos striding towards him with a frown.

As he got closer, Porthos' preoccupied expression cleared into a look of amazement. "Athos? Is that you? By God, they said there was a messenger from the Queen, they didn't say who it was!" Upon reaching him, Porthos promptly threw his arms around Athos, picked him up and spun him round with a gleeful roar.

Setting him down again, Porthos abruptly remembered his station and cleared his throat sheepishly, still beaming at Athos. "Come inside. You have news? Last I heard you were in Madrid!"

"How did you - oh, Aramis I presume."

Porthos nodded. "He keeps me updated with the things I need to know but aren't supposed to," he said with a wink. "And I know he occasionally managed to get Sylvie word that you were still in one piece too."

"That was kind of him." Athos accepted a beaker of wine with a smile. "He seems to be doing well in his new position. As do you."

Porthos shrugged. "I'd be glad enough to see an end to the fighting, to tell you the truth. Tell me you bring good news?" he begged, not sounding very hopeful.

"The best." Athos drew a sheaf of papers from his bag. "They've signed the peace treaty Porthos. These papers are for a ceasefire, to take immediate effect. It's over. The war is over."

Porthos read them through quickly with a look of stunned incredulity, then stared at Athos. "You did it!"

Athos shook his head. "I was just a very small pawn in a very large game. I think Louis' death helped, awful though it is to say. Phillip was essentially left fighting his own sister, which didn't look good even to the Spanish."

Porthos snorted. "You never did like taking the credit, you mad bastard." He dropped the papers on the table and pulled Athos into a hearty embrace. 

"You have my thanks, at least," Porthos said more quietly. "I've seen enough death for six lifetimes. You've delivered us all." He lowered his head and kissed Athos softly on the mouth.

Taken by surprise, before Athos could object Porthos had already pulled away, looking embarrassed. 

"Sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"I won't tell if you won't," Athos murmured, and Porthos gave him a look of guilty gratitude. 

"I'd better go and spread the glad tidings," Porthos said, picking up the royal proclamation. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get Brujon to bring you some food."

\--

Porthos didn't return until after dark, but when he did he was smiling triumphantly. 

"You're a hero out there," he grinned, and Athos gave him a playful shove. 

"They should be thanking the Queen. I was just the messenger boy."

Porthos cackled. "You'll stay here tonight?"

"I should really be getting back," Athos protested. "Sylvie's near her time. I promised I wouldn't be long."

"One more night surely won't hurt?" Porthos argued. "It's dangerous round here after dark. The word about the ceasefire won't have got through to all the scattered units yet. And with the snows coming we've heard wolves in the forest some nights. Besides, you look knackered, you're going to be no good to Sylvie if you fall off your horse into a ditch because you were too tired to hang on, are you?"

Athos held up his hands. "Fine. You've convinced me." 

Porthos grinned. "I can find a tent for you? Or - you could stay in here with me?" he ventured hopefully.

Athos glanced at the bed, and hesitated. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" 

"What, you think you won't be able to keep your hands off me?"

Athos gave a resigned laugh of surrender. "As you wish. I'm sure I can resist."

An hour later they were lying next to each other, the lamp burning low. Half asleep already, they were quietly enjoying the other's warmth and proximity. They'd spent many a night like this over the years, and the sense memory of all those other times was lying heavy on both of them.

"I've missed this," Porthos said quietly, half-turning his head to look at Athos. His words echoed the thoughts that had been circling in Athos' head so exactly, it made him shiver.

"You're a married man now," Athos reminded him lightly. They'd both made their choices. There could be no going back.

"I know." Porthos sighed. "A married man who managed exactly one night with his new bride before being packed off back here. Now I know how d'Artagnan felt. Kind've wish I hadn't taken the piss so much."

They were quiet for a moment, then it was Athos who looked round. "I've asked Sylvie to marry me," he said.

"About bloody time!" Porthos exclaimed, and Athos gave him a rueful smile. 

"I wasn't sure it would be possible."

"Isn't Milady technically dead as far as the law's concerned?" Porthos asked. "As the Comtesse de la Fere, anyway?"

Athos shrugged. "Too many people knew she was still alive. And Louis gave her a blanket pardon for all her previous crimes anyway, remember? There was nothing stopping her announcing she was my wife."

"So what changed?"

"Her Majesty asked me if there was anything I desired in return for helping broker the peace treaty." Athos hesitated. "I asked her to grant me a divorce."

"Blimey." Porthos sat up and stared at him. "She agreed?"

"Yes." 

Porthos nodded. "Well I suppose repeatedly trying to bump each other off is pretty good grounds," he mused, and was glad when Athos lost his rather pensive expression in favour of a helplessly indignant smile.

"I understand she also took it upon herself to marry again whilst in England," Athos said carefully, and Porthos blinked.

"She's married to someone else then?"

"Widowed, actually."

Porthos snorted. "I can guess what that means. How do you know all this, anyway?"

"It appears the Queen is in contact with her," Athos said. "I don't know the details, but I imagine I can guess. Her Majesty appeared to think there would be no objections from that quarter, anyway."

"Funny how things turn out," Porthos sighed, lying down again. 

"You'll come, won't you? To the wedding I mean?" Athos asked.

"Course I will. Just try and stop me." Porthos smiled at him. "I guess I'll have a bit of mopping up here to do first. Can you wait a few weeks?"

"We've waited this long," Athos agreed. "And I imagine Sylvie will be rather busy in the coming weeks anyway."

Porthos snickered, then looked solemn. "Did you see Elodie? I guess you've come from the garrison?"

"Yes. She's well. Sorry, I should have said before," Athos said, thinking back to the previous morning when he'd ridden out. Sylvie and Elodie had been there to wave him off, arms around each other's waists, and he'd been glad to think Sylvie had someone there for her who'd been through it all already.

"She's not - you know. Is she?" Porthos asked, miming a bump over his stomach.

"Elodie? No, I don't think so," Athos said in surprise. Porthos nodded, giving a quiet laugh.

"Good. One night together, you know? Probably would have been an unwelcome present to leave her with so soon."

Athos looked sideways at him. "You did get the right hole?"

There was a second's silence, then Porthos leapt on him with indignant laughing fury. They tussled with each other, jabbing and grappling and blocking until Porthos managed to pin Athos beneath him through sheer superior strength and then suddenly they weren't fighting any more but kissing each other, breathless and desperate.

"Porthos. Porthos, no, we can't. We can't," Athos panted, finally coming to his senses and pushing him back. There was no strength behind it, but Porthos rolled away immediately, lying flat on his back and breathing hard until he could master himself.

"I'm sorry," Porthos murmured eventually, sounding bleak.

Athos sought out his hand under the bedclothes. "Me too."

Porthos squeezed his fingers gratefully. "Forgive me. It's been a long, lonely time out here without anyone."

"There's nothing to forgive." Athos rolled over and slid his arm round Porthos' waist. "I will always love you, Porthos. But physically we can only be friends from now on."

"I know." Porthos sighed. "And I do love Elodie. But the stupid thing is I barely know her."

"You'll be home soon. You'll have all the time in the world to get to know her," Athos promised, settling against Porthos' side and being wrapped in his warm arms in turn.

"Yeah," said Porthos softly. "Let's sleep now, eh? You've got an early start and a new career as a midwife ahead of you."

Athos snorted. "Maybe I should send you back in my place."

"Oh no, I've had my turn," Porthos declared happily, relieved that their moment of unguarded madness hadn't turned things awkward. "I could give you some tips though? For a small fee?"

"Do they include hiding in the nearest tavern and getting blind drunk as a viable alternative?"

"That's probably what Sylvie'd like too," Porthos grinned. "Couple of days from now she'll be wishing she'd never met you."

Athos smiled, and leaned over to turn out the lamp. 

\--


	3. Chapter 3

Before leaving for the front and during the night he spent on the way, Athos had been plagued with bad dreams involving something awful happening to Porthos in the last minutes of the war. Now, on the return journey his nightmares were all of Sylvie, and he found himself back in the saddle at first light, too unsettled to sleep and determined to reach Paris as soon as humanly possible. 

Having made it to the garrison in record time, Athos found himself dismounting before a sea of faces all staring at him in silence. Seized by the sudden horror that all his worst imaginings had come true he looked desperately for a face he recognised but the new cadets were all strangers to him.

"Sylvie?" he bellowed, shoving his way through the startled crowd and barrelling through the doorway to the rebuilt accommodation block. "Sylvie!" 

Sick with fear, Athos shoved open the door to his rooms only to draw up sharply at the impression he was being hissed at by a roomful of women.

"Shhh!" Constance reprimanded him sternly with a finger on her lips. "You'll wake him up, we've only just got him to sleep."

Hanging onto the door for support, Athos finally took in with weak relief the fact that Sylvie was sitting up in the bed and smiling at him, a bundle cradled in her arms. Elodie was sitting next to her, combing out Sylvie's hair, and Constance patted him on the arm, closing the door quietly as Athos staggered across the room.

"Sylvie." Athos sank to the edge of the bed as Elodie rose to make room for him, and Sylvie gave him a helpless smile.

"We have a son," she whispered.

Athos put his arms around her with a fragile tenderness, as if half-afraid she might shatter. He stared down in wonder at the sleeping baby - his son - wrinkled face screwed up and lips moving quietly, one tiny fist pressed against his mouth. 

"Sylvie," Athos breathed, unable to summon anything more coherent. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, speechless and amazed and relieved and guilty all at once.

"Two weeks, you said," Athos managed finally, with a half-laughing indignance.

Sylvie grinned impishly at him. "It seems impatience runs in the family."

"I'm sorry," Athos murmured. "I wanted to be here for you." 

"You are," Sylvie said softly, resting her head against him. "Or are you planning on dashing off again?"

Athos shook his head. "No. Here I am, and here I stay. Wild horses couldn't drag me away again, I swear."

Watching them with a fond smile, Constance beckoned Elodie away from the bed. "Come on. Let's give them some peace," she said, turning towards the door.

"Thank you," Athos said, looking up. "Both of you. For everything. For looking after her."

"Sylvie did all the hard work," Constance smiled. As she went out, Elodie hung back for a second as if working up the courage to say something. 

"Sylvie won't tell you this herself," Elodie blurted, "so I'm going to. You leave her in peace for a while, if you take my meaning. There was some tearing, and she's in no fit state to be bothered. You understand me?"

Athos stared at her, taken aback. "I - yes. I take your meaning. Quite."

Elodie gave him a stiff nod, and was about to leave when Athos called her back.

"Elodie," he said quietly. "I've come from the front. Porthos is well, and should return in a matter of weeks. I thought you might like to know."

Elodie stared at him, points of high colour blooming in her cheeks at the realisation she should have asked herself, and wondering if Athos meant it as a rebuke. But he only smiled hopefully at her, and she nodded awkwardly.

"Thank you. That's good to hear." She slipped out of the door, and Athos turned to Sylvie who was looking mortified.

"Tearing?" he echoed faintly.

Sylvie shook her head with an embarrassed sigh. "It's not as bad as it sounds. I was never in any danger, I promise. I'm just a bit sore." She resettled the sleeping baby in her arms, and smiled down at him. "He's a big boy, and he wasn't hanging around."

"I should let you rest. I'll find other quarters - "

"Hey." Sylvie caught his sleeve. "You're going nowhere."

"Elodie - "

"You know perfectly well what Elodie was talking about, and it wasn't the act of sleeping," Sylvie laughed. "You can stay right here with me. I'm not letting you out of my sight. Besides, you'll need to fetch him to me when he needs feeding in the night, I can't stand just yet."

Athos immediately looked worried again. "Sylvie - you would tell me if - "

"I'm fine. I promise." Sylvie leaned in and kissed him. "Although if next time round you could be the one to give birth, I'd appreciate it."

Athos gave a low laugh, hugging them both close. "I would if I could." He cocked his head enquiringly. "Does that mean you're not averse to the idea of having another?"

Sylvie pursed her lips. "Let's just say I'm not averse to the idea of practising."

\--

When Porthos returned to the garrison a couple of weeks later everyone poured out of the buildings to welcome him home. Warmly embraced by Athos and d’Artagnan, he kissed Sylvie and Constance and exclaimed loudly over the baby in Sylvie’s arms.

“You called him Porthos, right?” he asked Athos with a grin.

“No, we were only going to call it Porthos if it had been a girl,” Athos said seriously, and Porthos roared with laughter. Athos smiled, and thought how good it was to have him back safely. 

“His name is Raoul,” Sylvie said, and Porthos tickled the sleeping baby under the chin.

“Now, where’s mine hiding? Ah!” Porthos looked round to find Elodie standing quietly a short distance away, as if not certain she should interrupt. 

“Hello there.” Porthos kissed her firmly, then lifted Marie-Cessette out of Elodie’s arms with a big grin. The child, faced with a large strange man hoisting her into the air promptly started to wail, and Elodie reached out protectively to take her back. Porthos just laughed, and started strolling around the courtyard talking to his adopted daughter cheerfully and after a minute or so she stopped crying and starting chuckling, waving her hands about and tugging on his beard.

Athos watched them with a smile and a certain amount of envy. Sylvie nudged him. “You can hold yours whenever you want you know,” she murmured.

Looking down at the baby, Athos sighed. “I have this terrible fear that I’m going to drop him,” he confessed under his breath. Sylvie grinned.

“Daft beggar.” Sylvie placed Raoul carefully into his arms. “You’re not going to drop him Athos. I promise.”

Athos gazed down at his son and felt the same surge of love and faint terror that he always did when holding him, and wondered if that would ever change. He couldn’t imagine ever taking this for granted. 

Porthos wandered over to him still carrying Marie-Cessette, and they smiled at each other.

“We did good, didn’t we?” Porthos murmured, and Athos nodded slowly.

“We did. We really did.” 

\--

“Elodie. Have you got a while? I want to show you something.” Porthos held out her cloak, and Elodie looked startled. 

“Marie - ”

“Will be fine with Sylvie and Constance,” Porthos promised. “We’ll only be an hour or so. Please?”

Cryptically refusing to answer her persistent questioning, Porthos lead Elodie through the streets to a well-to-do quarter near the palace, and to her increasing confusion let them into a large empty house set back from the road.

“So? What do you think?” Porthos asked with a grin, spreading his arms to encompass the rooms opening off the hallway.

Elodie shook her head. “I don’t understand. What is this place?”

“Ours!” Porthos announced. “Our new home. What do you reckon?”

Elodie looked about her. “Well. There’ll be a lot of cleaning,” she ventured dubiously.

Porthos, who’d been expecting something a little more effusive, was taken aback.

“Well you won’t have to clean it yourself!” he said. “We’ll have staff.”

Elodie looked even more alarmed. “I was brought up on a farm, what do I know about having staff? And what am I supposed to do if they’re doing everything for me, sit on my arse all day?”

Porthos frowned. “No, of course not, you can do whatever you want. Hell, become a stonemason if you want, I don’t mind.” He looked at her troubled expression and groaned. “You don’t like it, do you?”

“You didn’t strike me as the sort of man who’d want servants,” Elodie said, avoiding the question.

Porthos sighed. “I didn’t think I was. But then I figured – if I’ve suddenly got the money to be able to offer a few people a decent wage who wouldn’t have it otherwise – then isn’t it my duty to, rather than just sitting on it?”

Elodie relented a little. “I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Do we have to live somewhere this big though?”

“It was a gift from the Queen,” Porthos admitted. “For services rendered on the battlefield.”

“Do you have to accept it?” Elodie took in his expression and sighed. “You already have.”

“It would have looked too ungrateful not to,” Porthos said. “Besides, I thought you’d like it. Look, alright, give it a year or so, until everyone’s forgotten it was a royal gift, and if you still don’t like it we can move somewhere smaller, how’s that?” he offered.

Elodie gave him a tentative smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. Course.” Porthos took her hands and looked hopeful. “At least come and have a look round?”

The house was already furnished, to Elodie’s relief in a style more comfortable than opulent, and ranged over three floors. Outside one of the largest bedrooms Porthos stopped and slid an arm around Elodie’s waist.

“Tell you what,” he smiled suggestively, “while we’ve still got the place completely to ourselves – why don’t we christen one of the beds?”

Elodie though disentangled herself awkwardly from his embrace and walked over to stare out of one of the windows instead. Porthos stared at her back, and sighed. The night before, upon his return, she’d rejected his advances pleading embarrassment at the proximity of so many other people in the garrison. He’d taken her at her word, but now it looked like that had simply been an excuse.

“Would you rather I didn’t bother you?” Porthos asked quietly, heart feeling heavy in his chest.

Elodie turned to face him, looking guilty and rather unhappy. She shook her head. “No, it’s not that. I’m sorry, I’m just not – I don’t know. I suppose all this is a lot to take in,” she admitted, gesturing at the house. “What do I know know about being a fine lady? And – I suppose I’m realising I don’t even know how to be a good wife, or what you expect of me. I’ve spent nearly all my married lives so far with absent husbands,” she said with a mirthless laugh.

Porthos frowned. “Good wi- Elodie, you’re _my_ wife,” he said, striding over to her. “That’s all I care about. And as for being a lady, well I’m no fine lord either, I promise you. Look, this is _our_ house, okay? That means our rules.” He winked at her. “Our table manners.” Elodie gave a reluctant smile at that and he grinned, encouraged. “Sod everybody else. As long as we’re happy I don’t give a stuff for protocol.”

Elodie’s tense expression finally softened, and she let herself sink into his arms. “Do you know, I think I’d actually forgotten how much I loved you?” she whispered.

Porthos hugged her close and kissed her on top of the head. “I know we’ve not had much time together. But that’s going to change, I promise you.” He hesitated. “And – I want to make you happy. If there’s stuff you’d rather I didn’t do, or – or did do – you know. In the bedroom, like. You can tell me. I want you to tell me.”

Elodie looked up in surprise, and smiled at him. “You’re perfect just the way you are,” she said, and Porthos beamed at her in relief. 

“Look,” he said, as an idea occurred to him. “If you don’t like the idea of rattling around here on your own, why don’t we invite Athos and Sylvie to come and stay? Sylvie could probably do with a bit of peace and quiet right now.”

“Do you mean that?” Elodie asked, her face lighting up, and Porthos nodded.

“Yeah. Why not? It makes sense.”

Elodie flung her arms around him and he laughed, picking her up and kissing her enthusiastically. When he set her down again, she took him by the hand and lead him into the adjacent bedroom.

Following with a curious look, Porthos soon got the message when she pushed him insistently down on the bed and climbed up after him. He laughed, taking her into his arms as she started unlacing his shirt.

“Mmmn. I can see I’m going to have to have good ideas more often.”

\--

“This is very kind of you,” Athos said, smiling over at Porthos. “To have us here.” They were standing in the shelter of the rear doorway, watching Sylvie and Elodie take advantage of an unseasonable thaw to explore the garden, swathed in thick cloaks and taking it in turns to carry Marie-Cessette who kept leaning out of her blanket bundle to try and grab passing branches.

“Purely selfish,” Porthos grinned. “And it’s company for Elodie when I’m not here. Somehow peacetime seems to be keeping me busier than warfare at the moment.”

Athos adjusted Raoul, who was slumbering against his shoulder, and nodded. “They seem to have become very close, while we were away,” he said, watching the two women try and persuade Marie to let go of what appeared to be a frozen bullrush. “I’m glad. It means a lot, to have someone at your side you can rely on.” They exchanged a glance, and a smile.

“Talking of which – have you thought much about what you’ll do next?” Porthos asked. “Or has her Majesty got some other task up her sleeve for you?”

Athos shook his head. “For now I’m just enjoying being a father,” he said. 

“Don’t want your old job back then?” Porthos teased.

Athos gave a short laugh. “No. D’Artagnan already tried that one. I told him he was stuck with it.”

Porthos looked sideways at him. “He’s got a lot on his plate you know, d’Artagnan. Hell of a lot of raw recruits to wrangle, and some of them drawn from the Red Guard.”

“I didn’t know that?” Athos said in surprise. Porthos nodded.

“They weren’t all bad, after all. And they didn’t all follow Marcheaux at the last. He’s taken none of those that did,” Porthos assured him. “But he still feels they warrant a bit of extra watching. Trouble is, it’s hard to be everywhere at once.”

“Why do I feel you’re going somewhere with this?” Athos asked suspiciously.

“What he could do with,” said Porthos slowly, “is some kind of trusted lieutenant.”

Athos gave him a searching look. “Me?”

“Why not? Would you have a problem working under him?”

“No of course not.” Athos frowned. “He might find it awkward though.”

Porthos grinned. “Actually it was his idea.”

Athos stared at him, realising he’d been set up, and Porthos laughed in delight at his dumbfounded expression.

“He asked me to sound you out,” Porthos admitted. “What do you say? Come on Athos, what else you gonna do? You’ll always be a Musketeer at heart.”

“I’ll – think about it,” Athos conceded. Porthos slapped him cheerfully on the back.

“Excellent. I’ll tell him you said yes.”

\--


	4. Chapter 4

As the weeks went by, everyone seemed to settle into life together in the house. Occasionally Athos and Sylvie would make polite noises about finding a place of their own, but either Porthos or Elodie would immediately dissuade them, promising them they were welcome to stay as long as they wished, and they wouldn’t hear of them going so soon.

Elodie, feeling her way into in her new position as mistress of such a grand house and gradually coming to understand that Porthos was genuine in his avowal that he would support her in whatever she chose to occupy herself with, one day declared that she and Sylvie were going to turn two of the large downstairs rooms into a schoolroom for the poor, and a printing house for the distribution of educational pamphlets.

“Your betrothed’s a bad influence,” Porthos mock-growled at Athos, who smiled happily at him.

“Isn’t she?” he said, sounding rather proud. “Don’t pretend you disapprove either,” Athos added, noticing that Elodie looked a little unsure of her ground. Whereas Sylvie looked entirely satisfied with the turn of events, secure in the assumption that they would do as they planned regardless of male approval, Elodie was giving off an air of defiance rather than confidence.

“Of course I don’t disapprove,” Porthos snorted, gathering Elodie into a hug of such enormous proportions that she practically disappeared from sight, her muffled giggles the only thing to mark her position.

\--

Spring was starting to make its presence felt, the trees in the garden spiked with early blossom and the still-frequent rain showers now slightly less icy than the previous months. 

Subjected to the combined and persistent arguments of variously Porthos, d’Artagnan, Aramis and finally Constance, Athos had conceded defeat and returned to the garrison as d’Artagnan’s second in command. He had to admit he was enjoying himself, having missed the life more than he’d realised, although still beyond grateful to be able to return every evening to Sylvie and Raoul. 

One afternoon an unexpected missive from the palace sent him hurrying home earlier than usual, and he burst into the schoolroom practically vibrating with suppressed tension. Sylvie and Elodie, heads together, looked up in alarm from a stack of papers they were sorting as Athos came to a panting halt in the doorway.

“Athos! Is everything alright?” Elodie asked in surprise.

“Yes. Forgive me for the intrusion,” Athos managed, recovering his breath somewhat. “May I borrow Sylvie for a while?” 

He lead Sylvie upstairs to their bedchamber, and she followed with amused concern.

“Athos? Whatever’s the matter?” Sylvie pressed as soon as they were alone. He looked both tense and emotional, and she couldn’t for the life of her tell if it was good news or bad.

“I have just heard,” Athos said carefully, suddenly unsure of his next words. “That my divorce has been granted.” He sank down to the bed and drew Sylvie down to sit next to him. “I am finally free to marry you. If you will have me?”

Sylvie stared at him, then threw her arms around his neck. “Athos.” They kissed each other, breathless and half-laughing.

“I take it that’s a yes?” Athos asked, and Sylvie gave him a poke in the ribs.

“Of course it’s a yes. It’s always been a yes.” She sobered a little, and kissed him again, more gently. “And – I’m sorry. I know it must in some ways feel like a mixed blessing, when gaining one thing means letting go of another.”

Almost tearful, Athos took her into his arms. “You don’t know how much it means,” he whispered. “That you understand.”

At Sylvie’s quiet urging he had finally told her what he saw as the whole sorry history of his life, and found both sympathy and understanding but also a refusal to let him indulge in self-pity or pointless recrimination.

Sylvie sighed, and to Athos it sounded melancholy. “You are pleased though?” he asked, pulling back to look at her. “This is what you want?”

“Yes. It is. I promise.” It felt like there was a ‘but’ hovering unsaid, and Athos looked a question at her, silently enquiring. 

Since he’d returned from Madrid it had occasionally felt distinctly like Sylvie was either keeping something from him or trying to raise the courage to tell him something, and at first he’d wondered anxiously what it was. But his attention had been diverted both by his new son and by resuming duties at the garrison, and as the weeks had gone by he’d worried less. He loved her and he trusted her, and he sincerely hoped those feelings were mutual, in which case whatever it was could be of no great import or she’d have told him.

“A marriage is a fresh start really, isn’t it?” Sylvie said, sounding more hesitant than he’d ever heard her.

“I believe traditionally more so when those involved haven’t been living together in sin for months first,” Athos said gravely, pleased when she smiled. “But yes.”

“That means – no secrets from each other.”

Athos experienced a flash of alarm, wondering if she could somehow be referring to his relationship with Porthos. He’d worried at first that living together under the same roof again would be difficult, but they were friends above all else and having parted in a mutual decision, in the end it hadn’t been as hard as he’d feared. 

“I suppose it does,” Athos agreed cautiously, slowly realising that Sylvie didn’t seem to be directing this at him at all.

“You suppose?” Sylvie echoed dryly, and Athos gave her a guilty smile. 

“Everyone needs some secrets,” he said.

Sylvie sighed. “Not me. Look, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s been eating away at me, and if we’re going to be married then I want it to be without anything hanging over us.”

“Sylvie, what are you talking about?” Athos asked, baffled. “Look, whatever it is, you can tell me, I promise.”

“I’m just afraid you’ll be angry,” Sylvie breathed, and Athos looked stricken.

“I could never be angry with you, I swear. Whatever have you done?” He winced slightly. “It’s not treasonous, is it?”

Sylvie stared at him. “I say I’ve got something to tell you and your first thought is that I’ve committed treason?”

“Well. You have got form,” Athos admitted, giving her a crooked smile. “I thought maybe you’d been using Porthos’ parlour to print seditious literature.”

Sylvie shook her head, not entirely sure whether to laugh or be indignant. She settled on laughing. “Well – I’m not.”

“That’s alright then.” Athos took her hand. “So, if we’ve established it’s not something likely to get you hung – what is it?”

Sylvie bowed her head, and Athos squeezed her fingers encouragingly. 

“When you were away,” Sylvie said hesitantly. “In Madrid. I – I was intimate with someone else.”

Athos stared at her, frozen. Whatever he’d been expecting it hadn’t been this, and he felt like the bottom had abruptly dropped out of his world. Sylvie risked a look up at him, and pinched her lips together in anguish. 

“I’m sorry, Athos, forgive me,” she pleaded. “Please say you forgive me?”

“I - ” Athos gradually took in the fact she wasn’t actually leaving him, and feeling slowly crept back into his numb body. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Sylvie looked faintly disbelieving. “That easily?” she asked warily. Athos blinked at her.

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who was he?”

Sylvie looked away. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Athos exploded, then winced as she flinched. “Sylvie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout – I just – I have to know.”

“Why?” Sylvie looked wretched. “What good does it do anyone to name names? What purpose does it serve?”

“Because - ” Athos faltered. “I just need to know.” 

“So you can go and challenge them to a stupid duel you mean?”

“No! I need to know they – that you – oh, Christ.” Athos put his head in his hands, and Sylvie frowned at him.

“Are you saying you want to know if you _approve_ of them?” she asked incredulously.

Athos looked up again. “Well. Yes. I suppose I am. Tell me?” he pleaded. “I promise I’m not going to kill anyone.” He frowned. “Unless it’s Aramis. If it was Aramis I’m afraid I will have to drown him.”

Sylvie spluttered. “Aramis? You think I’d sleep with Aramis?”

“Well, I hope not,” Athos said defensively. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Oh God, no!” 

“Well. That’s alright then.” 

They stared at each other awkwardly. 

“Was it just once, or - ” Athos faltered again. “Do you – are you still - ?”

“It’s over,” Sylvie said quickly. “I promise. It – it was more than once. I can’t justify it Athos, and I won’t try. I could say I was lonely, and scared, and I didn’t know if you’d be coming back, but that would all just be excuses.” 

“Please?” Athos begged. “Tell me who he is.”

“I can’t.”

“Sylvie - ”

“No, Athos, I can’t tell you who he was because – it wasn’t a he.”

Poleaxed, Athos was rendered speechless for the second time in five minutes. Eventually finding his voice, he took in the way Sylvie looked so miserably convinced he was going to throw her over, and took hold of her hand again.

“It – wasn’t a horse was it?”

Sylvie’s eyes went briefly wide, then she caught the mischief in his face and collapsed into his arms, half-laughing and half-sobbing. Athos held her tightly, burying his face in her hair and kissing her.

“I love you,” he breathed. “I love you Sylvie. No matter what. I promise.”

Taking a shuddering breath she sat up and he helped dry her eyes.

“So – a woman then?” Athos said softly.

Sylvie nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” she said bleakly.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Athos asked. “To be honest, I would rather that than a man.”

“Why?” Sylvie stared at him. “Does a woman somehow count for so much less?”

“What? No.” Athos stared back helplessly. “What, do you _want_ me to be angry? Is this the part where I’m supposed to fly into a jealous rage?”

“No, of course not,” Sylvie sighed, and leaned against him wearily. Athos put his arms around her.

“Friends?” he murmured. Sylvie smiled, and pressed a kiss to his throat.

“More than that, I hope.”

“Of course.” 

“Do you still want me to marry you?” she whispered.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Athos said. “In any case, I’ve already promised d’Artagnan he can be a bridesmaid.”

Sylvie giggled despite herself, and sat up. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just – promise me it’s over?” Athos asked, and she nodded. “Then you have no grounds for remorse. I was away a long while, and part of me would rather know you were happy rather than lonely during that time.”

“I didn’t dare hope to find you so understanding,” Sylvie said shakily, then frowned as Athos looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Athos?” She sighed. “You’re going to tell me there was some powdered Spanish beauty in Madrid, aren’t you?”

“No!” Athos looked indignant, then remembered it was rather worse than that, and cleared his throat. “I promise there was no one the whole time I was in Spain,” he said, and Sylvie snorted.

“That was a very specific qualification there,” she observed. “Does that mean there was somebody else here?”

Athos paused, then nodded heavily. 

“Someone – while we’ve been together?” Sylvie ventured, and Athos nodded again. “Who?”

Athos looked at her. “It would serve no purpose, to name names,” he said, and Sylvie glared at him, hearing her own words echoed back to her and realising she could hardly insist without being willing to reciprocate. But she could take a guess.

“Your wife?” Sylvie hazarded, and Athos looked startled.

“No!” he protested, then froze and looked guiltier than ever. “Well, I might have kissed her. But I didn’t mean to.”

Sylvie raised an eyebrow. “What did you do, trip and fall on her? How do you accidentally kiss someone?”

Athos looked uncomfortable. “I have no excuse. She took me by surprise. Forgive me. It was one kiss, and meant nothing.”

“But there was somebody else?” Sylvie persisted. “Who did mean something to you?”

“Yes,” Athos breathed. “But that, too, is over. I’m yours Sylvie, if you can find it in yourself to forgive me.”

“For someone who spent a lot of time protesting he wasn’t interested in romance, you do seem to get around,” Sylvie said dryly.

Athos gave her a sheepish smile, and she leaned in impulsively and kissed him.

“So – are we good?” Athos asked hesitantly. “We forgive each other?”

“Because apparently we are more alike than we realised,” Sylvie agreed with a rather dazed nod, and they held each other tightly for a moment. 

“The capacity for loving someone should not be held a shameful thing,” Athos said. “Where no injury is intended.”

“You loved them then?” Sylvie asked, her eyes searching Athos’ face.

“Yes,” Athos admitted. “Did you?”

Sylvie swallowed. “Yes.”

Athos nodded slowly. “But it’s over?”

“I promise.”

Athos slid off the bed to the floor and for a moment Sylvie stared down at him in confusion until she realised what he was doing and caught her breath.

On one knee, Athos took her hand and kissed it. “Sylvie,” he said gravely. “Will you marry me?”

\--


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t mean to pry, but – is everything alright?” Porthos asked quietly. Athos looked up in surprise, and Porthos studied him. “It’s just – you’re getting married in a week. You should be the happiest man in the world. But you look preoccupied,” Porthos added, when Athos said nothing.

“It’s nothing,” Athos sighed, and Porthos reached out to squeeze his shoulder. 

“What’s on your mind?” he coaxed. “If something’s wrong – can I help?”

Athos shook his head. “Thank you, but – no. It’s a private matter.” Porthos just looked at him, and Athos gave in. “It’s Sylvie.”

“She’s not pregnant again already?”

“No.” Athos half-smiled. “That’s – unlikely, if I’m honest.” He hesitated, but the temptation to share his thoughts was too great. “She told me she had an affair,” he admitted in a low voice. “While I was in Madrid.”

Porthos took a step back in surprise. “Who with?” He folded his arms. “If you need an alibi while you chop someone’s balls off, you’ve only got to ask.”

Athos looked amused. “Thank you for the offer, but that won’t be necessary. Besides, it might prove difficult. Apparently it was a woman.”

“A woman?” Porthos stared at him. “Who?”

Athos shrugged. “She wouldn’t say. I don’t know.”

Porthos rubbed his beard unhappily. “I think I might,” he said eventually.

“What?” Athos looked at him for an explanation, but Porthos had moved over to the window and was staring out at the garden. Athos moved to his side, and followed the line of his gaze.

Sylvie and Elodie were seated on a blanket on the grass with Catrine the nursemaid, the two children settled between them and all of them laughing at something.

Athos looked back at Porthos. “Elodie?” he asked, realisation dawning.

“Why not?” Porthos sighed. “I mean let’s face it, who else is it likely to be? They were both stuck in the garrison most of the time, and I doubt it was Constance.”

They both considered this for a second, then simultaneously shook their heads.

“But Elodie though?” Athos persisted. “She adores you.”

“You saying Sylvie doesn’t adore you?” Porthos pointed out, and Athos checked himself.

“I take your point.”

“Besides, she’s been – funny with me,” Porthos admitted with a sigh. “Ever since I got back. There was a reluctance there, you know? At first. I thought it was just me having been away so long. Things seemed to be getting better. She was happier.” He looked sideways at Athos. “You know when she really cheered up? When you and Sylvie came to stay.”

Athos laid a hand on Porthos’ shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know things had been difficult between you,” he murmured. “But whatever they might have had together while we were away, Sylvie promised me it was over.”

“And you believe her?” Porthos asked a little bleakly.

“I have no reason not to,” Athos said.

Porthos gave him a look. “Did you tell her about us?” he asked, suddenly changing tack.

“Why would I do that?” Athos asked uncomfortably. 

“Because I know you,” Porthos muttered. “And your debilitating sense of fair play. Wouldn’t put it past you to have thought one confession deserved another.”

Athos sighed. “I told her there was someone, yes. I didn’t expand on the details.”

“And did you tell her it was over?” Porthos asked pointedly.

“Yes.” Athos frowned. “It is.”

“Is it?” Porthos moved into his personal space, staring down into Athos’ eyes. 

“Porthos - ” Athos laid a warning hand on his chest, and Porthos promptly covered it with his own.

“Is it over, Athos? You once said you’d always love me.”

“You know I do,” Athos breathed. “That doesn’t mean - “

“No!” Porthos interrupted, cutting him off and sounding choked and angry. “No, you know what? I am sick of always being the one to compromise, the one who always has to understand what everybody else is going through. When’s it my turn, Athos? When do I get to be selfish?” 

With that he pulled Athos into his arms and kissed him, hard. 

For a few long seconds there was nothing in the world but the two of them, clinging to each other and kissing with the passion of weeks of pent-up longing. And then a noise behind them in the doorway broke through their focus, and they pulled apart to find Sylvie standing there staring at them, a hand over her mouth.

“Sylvie.” Athos reached out a stricken hand, but she turned and fled without a word. “Damn it!

Porthos was shattered with guilt. “Athos, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Athos shook his head. “The fault lies entirely with me,” he said, and touching Porthos lightly on the arm in reassurance, he plunged through the doorway in pursuit.

“Porthos?” 

Porthos looked up from his agony of shame to find Elodie had taken Sylvie’s place in the doorway.

“What’s going on?” she asked, bewildered at having had first Sylvie, then Athos push past her in the passage without a word.

Porthos sank into a chair with a sigh, then patted his lap. “Come here.”

Elodie did as he asked, settling herself across his legs and frowning at him. “Porthos? What’s happened?”

He took her hand in his. “Elodie, if I ask you something, will you answer me truly?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Porthos nodded heavily. “Are you in love with Sylvie? It’s okay. If you are. You can tell me.”

She stared at him in horror. “How did you - ?” 

“Doesn’t matter. It’s true then?” 

Elodie pulled her hand free of his grasp and buried her face. “I’m sorry. I never meant this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Do you love her?” Porthos persisted.

“I love you!” Elodie protested, looking up again.

“But do you want me though?” Porthos asked quietly. “It’s not always the same thing.” He sighed. “Do you not like men? Would you rather I left you alone?”

Elodie shook her head frantically. “No! I love you Porthos, I want you, of course I do. I just - ”

“Want Sylvie too?” Porthos finished for her, and Elodie gave a tired and guilty nod. “What if you could have her? If you wanted?” Porthos suggested. 

Elodie gave him a look of pure incredulity. “Athos would hardly agree to – oh my God. Athos.” She stared at him in sudden fright. “He knows?” Remembering the way he’d pushed past her in pursuit of Sylvie. 

Porthos nodded, and she clutched at him. “You have to tell him it was all my fault,” Elodie gasped. “Tell him I seduced her, that she is innocent of all wrongdoing.”

Porthos gave a faint laugh. “Sylvie hardly strikes me as the kind to be swayed so easily.”

“It doesn’t matter. You have to make him believe it was all me, you can’t let him be angry with her, you can’t!”

Porthos shook his head, calming Elodie with gentle hands. “He’s not angry with her. He loves her.” He sighed. “The question right now is more – will she be angry with him?”

\--

Sylvie had fled to the chamber they shared and Athos found her there sitting on the bed looking flustered and half-panicked. He threw himself to his knees and buried his face in her skirts.

“Sylvie. Forgive me.”

Confused and shocked, she let a shaky hand come to rest on his head, burying her fingers in his hair. “Athos? What’s going on? I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice muffled. “You weren’t meant to see that. It wasn’t meant to happen. We haven’t been – I swear we haven’t been - ” he broke off, not knowing what to say. They _hadn’t_ been doing anything they shouldn’t since coming here, but that kiss had brought it sharply home to him that the feelings he’d been trying to bury hadn’t simply gone away. He loved Porthos as much as he loved Sylvie, and as things stood right now he risked losing both of them because of his own stupidity.

“You’re telling me that – it was Porthos?” Sylvie asked faintly. “Your lover was _Porthos?_ ”

Athos finally looked up, although stayed on the floor. “Yes,” he admitted.

“But – but how – but he’s a _man_ ,” Sylvie protested.

Athos nodded. “Yes.” He bit his lip. “As Elodie is a woman,” he ventured. “Is it so different?”

Sylvie stared at him. “Yes!”

“Is it?” Athos sounded surprised. 

Sylvie groaned. “I don’t know. Oh for God’s sake, get up.” 

Athos climbed to his feet and gingerly sat next to her on the bed. “I should have told you,” he admitted. “But I was truly afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do.” Something else occurred to Sylvie and she looked at him sharply. “I never said it was Elodie.”

“No.” Athos half-smiled. “But it’s interesting that you didn’t contradict me, don’t you think?”

Sylvie gave him a half-hearted slap and he caught her hand in his and kissed it.

“Now you know all my secrets,” Athos whispered. “I stand naked before you, and at your mercy.”

“You wish.” Sylvie eyed him. “You were actually – physically – lovers?” she ventured.

“Yes.”

“Was it – while you were at war?”

Athos shook his head. “We were together for almost ten years.”

“Ten!” Sylvie stared at him in shock, and Athos nodded slowly.

“I don’t really remember how it first started. I suspect we were both drunk,” he confessed. “It happens more often than you’d think. A little soldier’s comfort between comrades.” Athos smiled sadly. “Somehow – somewhere along the way we realised it was more than that. That we loved each other. I had thought that I would never love again, but Porthos – Porthos changed all that. Thawed something inside me, perhaps.”

“Then I suppose I should be grateful to him,” Sylvie said softly. 

Athos gave her a tired smile. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

“I already forgave you.”

“That was before you knew who it was.”

“You were together for so long,” Sylvie said helplessly. “What happened?”

“I met you.” Tenderly Athos pushed her hair to one side and laid a kiss to her bare shoulder. “And I fell in love. Again.”

“Does Porthos hate me then?”

“No.” Athos shook his head insistently. “No, he likes you. He always has. We’ve always had Porthos’ blessing in this.”

For a moment they just sat there, side by side and holding hands, both staring into space. Then there came a tentative tap at the door and it swung open to reveal Elodie and Porthos, both looking anxious but also, to Athos’ relief, holding hands.

“We need to talk,” Elodie said. “All of us.”

\--

They sent Catrine home early and settled in the parlour, Raoul sleeping soundly in his cradle a safe distance from the fire, and Marie-Cessette doing her best to crawl around the floor by shoving herself along enthusiastically with one foot. Conversation was sporadically interrupted by whoever was closest having to lean down and remove something unsuitable from her mouth.

Athos and Sylvie took the couch nearest to Raoul’s cot, while Porthos and Elodie sat opposite them, and for a moment there was a certain amount of awkward throat clearing and avoidance of each other’s eyes.

“So.” Athos sighed, having the horrible feeling they were waiting for him to speak first. “You, uh, Elodie, I take it Porthos has told you about – well. Us.”

Elodie nodded and so did Porthos, who reached over to take her hand. 

“We’ve had a frank exchange of views,” he said with a rueful grin. “Seems as if we’re all as bad as each other.”

“So – where does this leave us?” Sylvie asked quietly. 

Athos sighed. “I don’t know. Somewhere very complicated.”

“Does it have to be?” Porthos asked, then flushed as they all looked at him. “I mean – you know. We could just - ” he waved a hand vaguely, and Athos frowned.

“What?”

“Share.” It was Elodie who spoke, and she licked her lips nervously as everyone looked at her in turn. “I mean why not? Who’s going to know? Nobody’s here overnight but us. You two could just – stay here. Live here. Permanently. And we could all – share.” Elodie faltered, going red. “I don’t mean all of us,” she clarified hastily, looking at Athos. “I don’t mean I want to sleep with you.”

Porthos stifled a snort of involuntary laughter, and Athos looked nonplussed. 

“Well – I, er – I don’t think there’s any way I can respond to that without offending someone, so I’m not going to,” he murmured with a slight smile. “But you truly think it could work?”

“Why not?” Elodie persisted. “Then – you can still have Sylvie, and Sylvie can have me, and I can have Porthos, and Porthos can – can have you.” She swallowed. “I mean, um. Not all at once.”

“No. Quite.” Athos looked like he was trying not to laugh and Sylvie pinched him on the inside of the arm. “You’re both in agreement?” Elodie and Porthos both nodded. “Sylvie?” he asked quietly.

Sylvie looked both scared and hopeful. “I think – it could work,” she said slowly. “I’d be willing to try. But it also has the potential to screw up everything we have and hold dear, so I think we have to be very, very certain about what we want and what we’re doing.”

“You’re talking about ground rules,” Athos said in a low voice, and she nodded.

“We’re sharing a house, but now we’re talking about sharing beds. And what are we going to do, take turns, or - ?”

Elodie frowned. “I think we should have separate bedrooms, for each – well, each couple. It’s not like we haven’t got enough to go round.” She went red again. “I’m not sure I like the idea of you and Athos in our bed,” she confessed under her breath to Porthos. 

Athos shook his head. “If there is any part of this that makes you uncomfortable, I don’t think we should even attempt it.”

Elodie looked pained, and glanced at Sylvie for support. Sylvie nudged Athos. “Kiss him,” she whispered.

“What?” Athos looked confused and Sylvie gave him a meaningful look. “Porthos. Kiss him. Look, I’m not sure that I would have understood quite what you mean to each other, if I hadn’t seen you together. And Elodie hasn’t. So – kiss him.” She gave Athos a push, and somehow he found himself on his feet.

Sylvie smiled at Porthos. “Go on,” she said, and he looked nervously at Elodie, who immediately turned to Sylvie for advice. Sylvie nodded encouragingly, and Elodie took a deep breath and nodded at Porthos. He kissed her and got to his feet, stepping across to meet Athos and conscious of everyone’s eyes on him.

“I feel like a performing bear,” he grumbled. Athos smiled.

“Well, you can’t have one.”

Porthos snorted. “Your jokes are terrible. I think I preferred you morose,” he complained. 

“Did you?” Athos asked softly. Porthos sighed, and shook his head.

“Nah. I like you happy.” He reached out, and tentatively took Athos hand, looking into his eyes. “Sylvie’s made you far happier than I ever did,” Porthos whispered, giving voice to the one thing that had quietly tortured him for months. 

Athos drew him closer, and cupped Porthos’ face with his hand. “You were the one who made me realise it was even possible to _be_ happy,” he said emotionally. “You showed me how to love again Porthos, when I didn’t believe I ever could.”

Slowly, they leaned in and kissed each other. Soft and unhurried, they melted into each other’s arms with a quiet sigh and held each other close, still kissing.

After a few seconds, Sylvie got quietly to her feet and crossed to sit next to Elodie, searching her face to make sure she was okay with what she was watching.

Elodie tore her gaze away from the two men and looked at Sylvie with something close to bewilderment. 

“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I didn’t know how they felt. Did we – did we get in the way?”

“No,” Sylvie said earnestly. “And if you think that you’re doing both of them a disservice as much as you are us. Porthos truly loves you, as Athos loves me. And I – I love you too.”

Elodie finally broke into a smile and they kissed each other, first with breathy laughter and then with a quietly intent passion that shut out the rest of the world.

Eventually Athos noticed them from the corner of his eye and nudged Porthos, inclining his head towards them. Porthos turned to look, then slid his arm round Athos’ waist.

“They’re beautiful,” Porthos sighed, with a hint of melancholy. 

“And still ours,” Athos reminded him. “As we are theirs. And each other’s. We can have it all, Porthos. We really can, and I never thought it possible.”

Hearing the quiet murmuring of conversation Sylvie and Elodie broke apart and looked up at them, eyes shining with exhilaration. They climbed to their feet and joined the others in front of the fire. Athos reached out to Sylvie, and Porthos reached out to Elodie, and somehow everyone found themselves standing with an arm round both the people they loved.

“Is this really happening?” Sylvie whispered. “Are we doing this?”

Athos nodded. “I think, if anyone can make it work, we can?” he said slowly, looking round at them. 

“With love, and trust? We can do anything,” said Elodie firmly.

“Let’s face it, we’ve never been the most conventional people,” Porthos agreed with a laugh. “Any of us.”

“Then here’s to doing things our way,” said Athos with a smile. “And God help anyone who tries to come between us.”

\--


End file.
